Falling for the Earl: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 12)

by Arietta Richmond

  His Majesty’s Hounds

  An additional story

  Sweet and Clean Regency Romance

  Falling for the Earl

  Arietta Richmond

  Dreamstone Publishing © 2017

  www.dreamstonepublishing.com

  Copyright © 2018 Dreamstone Publishing and Arietta Richmond

  All rights reserved.

  No parts of this work may be copied without the author’s permission.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-925499-88-9

  Disclaimer

  This story is a work of fiction.

  Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events, locales or actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Some actual historical events and locations of the period may be referenced in passing.

  Books by Arietta Richmond

  His Majesty’s Hounds

  Claiming the Heart of a Duke

  Intriguing the Viscount

  Giving a Heart of Lace

  Being Lady Harriet’s Hero

  Enchanting the Duke

  Redeeming the Marquess

  Finding the Duke’s Heir

  Winning the Merchant Earl

  Healing Lord Barton

  Kissing the Duke of Hearts

  Loving the Bitter Baron

  Falling for the Earl

  Betting on a Lady’s Heart (coming soon)

  Rescuing the Countess (coming soon)

  Attracting the Spymaster (coming soon)

  Restoring the Earl’s Honour (coming soon)

  A Duke’s Daughters – The Elbury Bouquet

  A Spinster for a Spy (Lily) (coming soon)

  A Vixen for a Viscount (Hyacinth) (coming soon)

  A Bluestocking for a Baron (Rose) (coming soon)

  A Diamond for a Duke (Camellia) (coming soon)

  A Minx for a Merchant (Primrose) (coming soon)

  An Enchantress for an Earl (Violet) (coming soon)

  A Maiden for a Marquess (Iris) (coming soon)

  A Heart for an Heir (Thorne) (coming soon)

  The Derbyshire Set

  A Gift of Love (Prequel short story)

  A Devil’s Bargain (Prequel short story - coming soon)

  The Earl’s Unexpected Bride

  The Captain’s Compromised Heiress

  The Viscount’s Unsuitable Affair

  The Derbyshire Set, Omnibus Edition, Volume 1

  (contains the first three books in a single volume.)

  The Count’s Impetuous Seduction

  The Rake’s Unlikely Redemption

  The Marquess’ Scandalous Mistress

  The Derbyshire Set, Omnibus Edition, Volume 2

  (contains the second three books in a single volume.)

  A Remembered Face (Bonus short story – coming soon)

  The Marchioness’ Second Chance (coming soon)

  A Viscount’s Reluctant Passion (coming soon)

  Lady Theodora’s Christmas Wish

  The Duke’s Improper Love (coming soon)

  Other Books

  The Scottish Governess (coming soon)

  The Earl’s Reluctant Fiancée (coming soon)

  The Crew of the Seadragon’s Soul Series,

  (coming soon - a set of 10 linked novels)

  Dedication

  For everyone who had the grace to be patient while this book, and every other book that I have written, was coming into existence, who provided cups of tea, and food, when the writing would not let me go, and endured countless times being asked for opinions.

  For the readers who inspire me to continue writing, by buying my books! Especially for those of you who have taken the time to email me, or to leave reviews, and tell me what you love about these books, and what you’d like to see more of – thank you – I’m listening, I promise to write more about your favourite characters.

  For my growing team of beta readers and advance reviewers – it’s thanks to you that others can enjoy these books in the best presentation possible!

  And for all the writers of Regency Historical Romance, whose books I read, who inspired me to write in this fascinating period.

  Table of Contents

  Falling for the Earl

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Here is your preview of Rescuing the Countess

  Chapter One

  Books in the ‘His Majesty’s Hounds’ Series

  Books in ‘The Derbyshire Set’

  Regency Collections with Other Authors

  Other Books from Dreamstone Publishing

  Chapter One

  Late March 1818

  A scatter of flower petals and pollen, bounced up by the force of her landing, fell across Jane’s face, causing her to sneeze. She looked up past the hedge above her to the blue sky of early spring, and laughed, suddenly feeling as if she were a young girl again.

  She lay there, her skirts undoubtedly the worse for the sudden contact with the grass and flowers of the verge of the lane, and allowed herself to enjoy the moment.

  “I do apologise! May I help you up?”

  The voice was rich and warm, resonant. A voice for speaking lovers’ words, or praise, not for complaint. A large hand, obviously belonging to the gentleman whose voice she had just heard, appeared in her view. Suddenly, she felt rather silly, lying in the grass and laughing. She turned her head, and smiled at the owner of the extended hand, then raised her own hand, and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

  “Thank you.”

  As she had no idea who he was, she did not risk any specific form of address – although his clothes spoke of wealth.

  “It’s the least I could do, given it was my fault that you landed in the grass in the first place. If I hadn’t been in such a hurry, you would not have needed to leap out of my path to avoid being trampled.”

  The horse under whose hooves she had barely avoided being trampled snorted quietly, continuing to eat the spring grass where his rider had abandoned him to come to her aid. Jane looked down at her skirts, and smoothed the crumpled folds. There were definitely grass stains, which might never come out. She found that she did not care. For the first time in many years, money was not an issue – if the dress was not saveable, she could easily afford another.

  “True. But you could not have expected to find someone walking along an isolated country lane in the middle of the morning. And I have come to no harm.”

  He looked at her, seemingly surprised at her calm acceptance of the situation. She suspected that he had expected to be berated for his actions. She could not find it in her to do so. The day was far too pleasant for being irritable. He was far too pleasant, for that matter.

  Whoever he was, he was a well put together man, not in the first flush of youth, but fit and healthy regardless. Unlike her late husband, this man had not allowed himself to run to fat. His hair was dark, beginning to silver at the temples, and his eyes were a soft green, matching the spring grass that surrounded them.

  “I thank you for your kind forbearance. May I assist you in any way?”

&nbs
p; “That is not needed. I will simply continue on my way, and leave you to continue on yours, although perhaps at a less precipitate pace?”

  “Indeed, that is probably wise.”

  He looked a little chagrined at having his foolishness pointed out, but took it in good part.

  “Then I bid you good day.”

  “And I you. Let us hope that, should we meet again, it will be in a less dramatic fashion.”

  So saying, he bowed to her, with the elegance of a man long used to courtly behaviour and, smiling, turned to disrupt the horse’s grazing. Soon, he had disappeared from sight around the next bend in the lane. Jane stood for some minutes, feeling the warm sun on her face, smelling the crushed grass and flowers, listening to the birds and the small animals in the hedgerow.

  It was a truly beautiful day. She had not, she realised, been paying attention to that fact at all, until the unknown gentleman had caused her to fling herself into the grass. She was grateful to him, for such a day should be appreciated. Smiling, she started walking again – it was not far to the village, and she had things to do, and people to see.

  It was still strange to her that she, Jane Canfield, who had eked out a poor living in Bridgemere Village for years, now lived in the Dower House of Windemere Towers, where her daughter now lived, a Countess, with her grandson, who was now an Earl, and heir to a Duke.

  Mostly, she felt more at home with the villagers than with her new extended family, even though Julian, the Duke of Windemere, had been her childhood friend.

  Perhaps, one day, she would get used to it all.

  ~~~~~

  Nicholas Belmont, the Earl of Amberhithe, was not used to making a fool of himself. But he rather thought he just had. His heart had nearly failed when he had rounded the corner in the lane, riding like a madman, letting out all of his frustrations in the wild ride, and discovered a woman immediately in his path.

  That she had the agility, and the presence of mind, to fling herself to the side, he was eternally grateful for. And when he had turned back to ascertain her wellbeing, she had been lying there like a young girl, laughing in the spring grass, flower petals scattered through her hair. He had been instantly charmed.

  Once he had helped her to her feet, he had seen that she was not so young. She was, most likely, of an age with him. But she was beautiful, in an unaffected way, completely unlike the women of the ton. He had been so struck by her presence that he had not even introduced himself and, as he looked back on it, it was clear that his conversation had been inane. Still she had apparently forgiven him, for both nearly trampling her, and for his conversation – or lack thereof.

  A most unusual woman, indeed. He rode along the lane, rather more slowly than before, and wondered, as Windemere Towers came into sight, who she was, and if he would ever see her again.

  Chapter Two

  More than a year earlier – late January 1817

  Nicholas could feel the pressure rising in him as he glared at his son before him. He gritted his teeth, and restrained his anger. His voice was scathing, as he spoke.

  “Do you do nothing but waste my money on gambling? Once, I thought you a reasonable man, but now, I have come to doubt that there will be anything left for you to inherit, given the rate at which you have been spending!”

  Gervaise simply leant back in his chair, the very picture of negligent ease. For a moment, there was a flash of something in his eyes, but it was rapidly replaced by the casual air that was so fashionable amongst the young men of the ton.

  “What else would you have me do? There is nothing to fill my days. I have put in the time to learn about our estates, yet you leave nothing in my control! A man must do something with his time, or go mad.”

  Nicholas considered him, thinking.

  There was, he had to admit, an element of truth in those words. Yet what was he to do? He could not trust the wellbeing of his estates and tenants to Gervaise – not when he was as likely to be out, drinking, gambling, and indulging in heaven knew what other vices, until the early hours of every morning, and then not awake and sensible until evening.

  Since Clara’s death, Gervaise had become impossible. He understood that the boy grieved his mother – but no more than Nicholas grieved the loss of his wife. He had been lucky, to have had a marriage full of love – yet that just made it all the harder to deal with the loss. And his burden was doubled by Gervaise’s attitude – for he had, in a sense, now lost his son as well.

  “Perhaps if you were not so busy drinking yourself to oblivion, you might be in a state where I would trust you with more responsibility. But this last two years you have shown no sign of caring enough to change. Well, I have had enough. I will no longer supply you with funds on this scale, nor will I pay your debts. Your monthly allowance will be reduced to one quarter of its current amount, as of next week. It’s up to you to get yourself out of the difficulties you may have sunk yourself into.”

  Gervaise stared at him a moment, shocked, then a hard expression crossed his face, some tangle of bitterness, hurt, anger and resentment.

  “I had not thought you that cruel. But so be it. You will see, in the end, that I am far more than you believe. I must, I suppose, be thankful that you have not cast me from the house. Do not expect to see me often, however, father, for I find my appetite for your company rather reduced.”

  Gervaise stood, and, with a mocking bow, left the room.

  Nicholas sighed, and let his head fall into his hands. He no longer had the least idea how to deal with his son – Gervaise seemed not even the same person that he had been, before Clara’s death. He prayed that, somehow, Gervaise would come to his senses, but he no longer held much hope of that happening any time soon.

  ~~~~~

  Gervaise Belmont, Viscount Woodridge, forced himself to walk calmly through the house. It was only once he was behind the closed door of his rooms that he allowed himself to express his anger. He snatched up the small bowl from his desk, and flung it across the room, watching it smash into his fireplace with some satisfaction.

  His father would see. He would prove that he was not as useless as his father thought. But he would say nothing yet. Nothing until the ship came in, which could be a year. A year in which he would have to survive on far reduced funds, and still pay out the rest of his debts. Suddenly depressed at the thought of the year ahead, he sank into the armchair under the window, and stared out across the London rooftops.

  He was not, now, so certain that he had made the right decision. When he had won, and won an astounding amount of money, he had not paid out all of his gambling debts. He had put most of the money into an investment – and investment in a well renowned shipping company – Morton Empire Imports – who were adding a new ship to their fleet, and establishing a more regular trade with India and beyond.

  If the venture succeeded, it would repay him ten times his investment, or more. The company did not normally take on investors – they had enough funds of their own to not need to do so – but he had been introduced by his great aunt, Lady Farnsworth – who seemed to know everyone – and that had opened doors for him. He was grateful for the opportunity.

  He just had to survive until the ship returned – and pray that no ill befell it on its journey. Now, given his father’s restriction of his funds, he wished that he had not put quite so much of the money into the investment. Those he still owed debts to were not very forgiving. Still – he had won before – won well enough to make the investment. Perhaps the only way to survive until the ship returned was to keep gambling – surely he could win again.

  ~~~~~

  January 1818

  The damned ship had not yet returned. Any time now, they said – there was word of her having reached Spain, but she had not yet reached London. And he no longer had any choice. Every last penny of his funds was gone, but the few pounds in his pocket. He had been a fool. He had kept gambling, but there had not been another big win. And now the threats had become serious.

  Ge
rvaise had seen what the moneylender’s thugs did to men who couldn’t pay – and he had no intention of being around for them to find. He’d left instructions with Mr Pensworth, his man of business – detailed instructions on who to pay, how much, and what receipts were required, if the ship arrived.

  He’d sent a letter to Morton Empire Imports, instructing that his funds were to be paid via Mr Pensworth.

  And now he was running. He’d sent his carriage off with Hattam, and a reasonable amount of luggage, to Percy’s country estate. Percy Charlesworth, Viscount Northdown, had been his friend since they were both new boys at school, and always told him to ‘visit whenever he liked’ – so he planned to. Eventually. He’d allow Hattam to get there, and give it a week, just in case the thugs followed the carriage. He didn’t expect them to leave London… but best to be sure.

  Gervaise would ride, with minimum luggage, and stay in some out of the way Inns for the few days, until he felt sure he was safe. He had no idea when he would return to London – best give it a few months, in case the ship was further delayed. He refused to consider the possibility of the ship never returning.

  The cold of late January was bracing, and the first two days passed without incident. Gervaise took a meandering route, far from the direct way to Percy’s, and spent time going cross country, as much as on the roads, to ensure that he was not followed. By the third day, he was feeling freer and safer than he had for months. A kind of wildness took him, and he rode fast through the icy woods, exhilarated by the rush of the wind.

  The woods he was in were obviously tended – he passed through a number of clearings, with signs of old woodcutter’s cottages, and long unused charcoal burner’s kilns, yet he saw no people. The empty clearings flew past, as did the ice laden branches. He felt alive, in a way that he never did in London.

  Then, suddenly, the trail turned and, as the light of another clearing opened up before him, the horse twisted, skidding on the ice, and launched into a jump. He saw, as he began to fall, the dark bulk of a huge log across the trail below him.